His face seemed to age as she watched it. “Well, yes, I am,” he acknowledged. “I’ve been a good deal of a nuisance to her first and last; and she’s old and ill. Let’s leave her out too, if we can.”
As he spoke, they heard, through the thin wall, the fumbling of a latch-key in the outer lock. Kate moved to the door; her decision was taken.
“You want to leave her out? Then promise me—give me your word that you’ll go. You know you can count on me if you need help. Only you must promise now; if not, I shall call your mother in—I shall tell her everything.” Her hand was on the doorknob when he caught it back.
“Don’t!”
The street door opened and closed again, a dragging step passed through the narrow hall, and a door was opened into the region from which the negress with the greasy apron had emerged in a waft of cooking.
“Phemia!” they heard Mrs. Fenno call in a tired elderly voice.
“I promise,” her son said, loosening his hold on Kate’s wrist.
The two continued to stand opposite each other with lowered heads. At length Mrs. Clephane moved away.
“I’m going now. You understand that you must leave at once ... tomorrow?” She paused. “I’ll do all I can for you as long as you keep your word; if you break it I won’t spare you. I’ve got the means to beat you in the end; only don’t make me use them—don’t make me!”
He stood a few feet away from her, his eyes on the ground. Decidedly, she had beaten him, and he understood it. If there were any degrees left in such misery she supposed that the worst of it was over.